Chapter 4

Zimin proposed withdrawing funds for illegal fights through the sweepstakes system. The betting system assigned a unique number to each participant. However, no one interfered with using this data for other postings for supposedly won or lost bets. So it was possible to “launder” the money, so that later it could be put into circulation without attracting the attention of the cops. And the sums are considerable. It's hard not to notice.

- Will there be any problems with the tax? - said Radimich.

He was a red-faced, short-haired man in his fifties who had kept a similar net in the past, when it was legal, but now he had to get out. Almost the entire business has gone into the "shadow". Fights in mixed martial arts have crushed various associations such as MMA. Casinos were banned, driving everyone into "gaming zones". Zones. Sounds like something!

It all started with street slot machines, and ended with the collapse of the business. Under the pretext of combating gambling addiction, almost everything was banned. Miroslav, deep down, was sure that this was as useless as the fight against drunkenness. They drank, they drink and they drink. Especially if there is a predisposition to this business. And demand inevitably creates supply.

Now there are only sports sweepstakes, hippodromes and online casinos. And then everything has been divided for a long time. Lucky were those who, having insider information, fussed in time. But such fools as Radimich believed to the last that the law would not pass. Passed. Pushed through.

Popov promised to help the businessman and bring him together with Zima in exchange for a share of the profits or a share in the business - as agreed.

Now they were sitting in a separate booth in a restaurant and talking. There were drinks and snacks on the table, but no one, except for Deputy Popov, touched them. He already doesn't care. "The Moor has done his job..."

Radimich was nervous. The room was cool, but he was sweating like a pig, could not stand it and threw off his jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair. There were sweat circles under the armpits. Trembling for his grandmother. He is terribly afraid of the cops, and the tax, and especially the bandits who will protect him. However, he has hope only for the latter. Otherwise, the business is out of business.

“No, the system is run-in,” Zimin assured. - The main thing is that there are only losses on real accounts. Then the tax authorities have no claims against these people, and they will not even know that their personal accounts are used to transfer funds. In your personal account, only clean it periodically. It's the programmers let them work.

- But…

Miroslav understood what the man was thinking.

“Yes, there is a minus,” he smiled. - We'll have to unfasten the income tax. However, there is a better way. Fake accounts, decorated for the fresh dead, various hanuriks, drunks and homeless people. We withdraw money as winnings, and then you don’t have to pay tax.

- Isn't it dangerous? Radimich was worried.

- The main thing is not to be impudent and to deduce in this way not everything, but only a part.

If only a little, it will not attract attention. It all depends on the scale of the activity.

- And so, and so, - inspired the man. - It doesn't catch your eye, does it?

- So. Decide for yourself, Sergey Viktorych, what is dearer to you - money or security. I can’t give guarantees in any case,” Zimin answered and spread his hands. - He who does not take risks does not drink champagne.

He was benevolence itself. Why refuse when the money itself floats into your hands? That's the reason to crawl into the underground fights. On the catcher and the beast runs. Backed by circumstances to the wall, the businessman himself came to bow. They will put their people there everywhere to see if Radimich has hidden part of the profit from business partners. The "roof", that is, protection, will be provided. Everything must be under control.

- I agree, - said Radimich and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a napkin.

- Excellent! Anton Nikolaevich, call the attorney, we will draw up. Let Sergey Viktorych discuss everything with lawyers today.

Popov rushed off into the hall to call. Everything had to look like a merger and mutually beneficial partnership of two betting systems. This is just the tip of the iceberg.

- Well, see you tomorrow at the signing? Zimin made it clear that the meeting was over.

- Yes, yes, - Radimich immediately hurried. - Thank you very much. I hope I don't let you down.

“And I hope,” his interlocutor dropped thoughtfully. “This is where my investment comes in. And the risk is mine too. Do you understand this well?

Radimich turned pale and began to breathe frequently. Zimin still thought about how he would not be hit by a condraty. Surely the man remembered a not too old case related to Zimin. He protected his colleague, Makhorkin, in the same way. He was consumed by his greed. He massively withdrew money through leftist accounts, which became the object of close attention of the tax and the Ministry of Internal Affairs. When they took him, the man made a deal with the investigation and tried to blame everything on his partners.

Zimin, assessing the scale of activities in time, ordered Popov to unilaterally terminate some of the contracts, notify the partner and destroy all documents on the "gray" accounting. The preventive measures worked. Oh, how Lieutenant Colonel Bessonov raged when nothing was found! Zimin's office was searched, everything in sight was confiscated, but there was nothing to dig into. Not caught, not a thief.

They also made themselves look like an innocent victim. And then the guys sorted out Makhorkin in the pre-trial detention center.

- What do you! Yes I! I never!!!

- What are you, what are you, - Miroslav smiled widely, in all thirty-two teeth. - I believe you. I hope for fruitful cooperation.

He didn't hesitate, he shook hands. He even escorted me to the exit, clapping him on the shoulder in parting. Radimich thawed and was inspired. Maybe they will work. You never know?

- Well, Winter? Shoe another sucker? Popov approached him.

He just finished an important conversation and caught the farewell.

Anton Nikolaevich Popov was his official deputy with all rights and privileges. And also a true friend and colleague.

Smart and vindictive type. The lads call him Pop, and ill-wishers call him "booty" behind his back. Until they come close. Then they will be very sorry, but it will be too late. It was a skinny, unpleasant, fast as a snake and the same cold-blooded man. A recidivist thief, he realized in time that he was cooking in the wrong place and wasting time on small things in vain.

He himself came to bow to Zimin, who was just spinning twenty years ago, and took the guy under his wing. He had prospects. The priest did not want power and preferred to stay in the shadows. He wanted more money. Zimin could get them. It was a tandem, proven over the years.

Of course, they are not at the top of the food pyramid. They also unfastened whoever needed it - both their brothers and the authorities. You have to pay for everything. And to pay, use the dark suckers.

“I think,” Zima shared his doubts. - Either milk him and turn him in, or invest in a big way.

– What do you want more? The deputy looked at him inquisitively.

He knew that Zimin had a flair for financial undertakings. He just knew what would bring him profit, and when to jump off in time.

- Haven't decided yet. In the process it will become clear. I will watch.

Miroslav will see what kind of person he is and how much profit the business will bring. And dance from it.

“And you got married with us, then,” Pop suddenly said without any transition.

- Yes, I did not hide. Registration was yesterday.

- On another woman.

- And this happens, - Zimin gave out with an absent look, thinking about what to do with Letkov.

He requested data and found out that they had part of the holding's shares. Not a large package to get on the board of directors, but enough to take part in the annual meeting and receive solid dividends.

Miroslav thought, why not quietly buy shares in order to legally make decisions there in April? Why he needed it, he did not yet know, but he would figure it out. No wonder he married Letkov's daughter. You can use it, just figure out how.

“Well, congratulations,” he said. - Settled down.

- What are you up to, huh? - tired of Zimin. - I'm not "in the law", I want to get married, but I want to get a divorce.

- Okay, don't be angry. The thing is young. How not to understand!

“And never mind.

Zimin did not want to quarrel with a friend because of a woman. Even wives. He knows her less than a day, and together with a friend for many years. They ate a pood of salt. Bullets were caught. It was different, both good and bad, which brings together forever.

- Will you show me? – sensing weakness, tried to find out the details Pop.

He was curious what kind of woman had ringed her friend yesterday. He himself could not attend, or rather, did not want to, dissuaded by urgent matters. But in fact, he simply did not want to see the singer. Didn't go for nothing. Missed the most interesting part.

Why not show? Will there be fights today?

- Indicative, - answered the deputy. - Charity evening in "Olympus".

- Excellent. We will come and meet you there.

Zimin said “we” so easily that he surprised himself. It's bad to get along with a woman like that. Dangerous. Women are like that. Give me your finger and they'll bite off your whole hand. Just follow.

“They say this is Letkov’s daughter,” Popov began again.

– Who is speaking? Zimin chuckled. - Our security guard, I suppose?

- No ... I myself! So it's true.

- Well, daughter. So what?

- Nothing. Anything is better than your singer.

Pop took a dislike to the boss's bride at first sight and was not shy about showing it. Let's see what he says when he sees Olga.

- Why is it better? You haven't seen her yet.

“Well, it’s more useful,” the interlocutor corrected himself.

Zimin thought that it is still unknown whether it is useful or harmful. She does not keep in touch with her parents. But a wife is a wife. It has to be reckoned with.

“But a wife is not a mitten, you can’t shake it off a white pen and you can’t plug it into a belt.”

I wanted to save the horse - if you please. Zimin did not like to lose. I don't usually play though. He is not a gambling man. Simply, if there was an opportunity, he did not hesitate to use it.

***

Olga slowly took a bath, dropping rose oil into it. Then she washed herself with her favorite shower oil, Loccitane, and washed her hair with it too. She didn't like shampoo, but at least she could tame her mane.

She got out and started wiping herself. The skin is soft like silk. Apply a moisturizing lotion to the face and neck - and that's it.

Will not paint yet. Lip balm - and breakfast. In the double boiler, vegetables and fish have already reached readiness. Trout steak and a piece of cod for a change. The former called her a cat for her love of fish and seafood. She was already trembling when she saw shrimp, mussels and other marine reptiles.

And she ate like a cat, slowly and thoughtfully, appreciating each bite for taste. Broccoli is overcooked. OK. She's the one picking on it. Tasty and healthy. Suffer finished, appetite available, life goes on.

That's it, breakfast is over. Brush your teeth again. The next step is to smooth your hair with an iron and braid it into a fluffy spikelet braid, throwing it over one shoulder.

Now plans for today, while no one distracts.

Take a walk with the dog - once!

Hand over the dress for cleaning - two!

Going to the salon is three.

I need to change my manicure. The day before yesterday I did scarlet under the dress. Now it's time to return to the usual pink with mother of pearl. On the legs, by the way, too. Lipstick will be in tone, but the eyes are bright, framed by brown shadows. Her usual everyday look in public.

Change into a long black boho skirt and a loose chunky knit sweater. On top is a thin belt to define the waist. Handbag with strap criss-cross across the chest. Check if you forgot something - money there or a club card of a beauty salon.

She won't go to the fitness club today. Enough of another "fitness". Olga smiled at the thought. She did not like to jump and jerk to the music, so she attended yoga and Pilates. Once you somehow calm down and come to harmony with yourself and the world. Useful after "fun" working days.

Don't forget your umbrella in case it rains again. This golden “cane” is just right.

Heeled ankle boots. And let everyone around think that tall women do not have the right to such shoes. She does not care. Especially since her man is taller. No need to adjust to someone else's height.

The woman went out to the platform and knocked on the neighbor's door. She opened:

- Oh, Olechka, is that you? Hello. Charlie has already stopped.

She was short, crooked from time to time, hook-nosed and like a baked apple, her face was so thickly covered with wrinkles. Absolutely gray hair was collected in a strict knot. Above was a flirty tattoo, replacing a scarf. With an uncovered head, an elderly lady never appeared before strangers.

“Hello, Mira Zagitovna,” Olga smiled. - Hello, Charlie.

The Pekingese, looking like a mini version of a Chinese dragon, snarled and jumped up and down in a funny way to greet a friend. Walk, walk! Hurry, walk!!! The poor fellow was simply exhausted with impatience. Olga stroked the dog, and he licked her hand.

“I heard that you and Andrei broke up,” said the neighbor.

“From… from whom?”

- From Nikitichna, here's the gossip. She doesn't live! The old woman threw up her hands.

“Indeed,” Olga said with annoyance.

Nikitichna is their courtyard KGB. He sees everything and knows everything. A permanent observer, always sticking out at the window on the first floor, and in the summer on a bench at the entrance, along with the same lovers of condemning and evaluating. No wonder the people call such old women "the Last Judgment."

Olga did not tell the tragic story of how she was thrown into the registry office, or assure that she was still married. To what it.

- I knew it! - the neighbor interpreted her prolonged silence in her own way. Andrey is not your match. I have long wanted to say. You need something better. Do you want me to introduce you? A good man, only older than you.

It turns out that the matchmaker disappeared in the old woman.

“Thanks, no need,” Olga snorted with laughter. - We'll sort it out ourselves.

Mira Zagitovna looked at her suspiciously. Suspicious fun after the groom left. And she really feels good, like a stone has been dropped from her shoulders.

- Well, are we going?

Charlie was already pulling her by the leash towards the stairs. We went down - and immediately stumbled upon guys in dark suits.

– Olga Borisovna? one of them asked.

The woman took a step back and raised her umbrella, realizing that she had nothing more to defend herself with. The Pekingese, sensing the threat and her fear, barked loudly at the stranger.

- Who you are? she asked. - What you need?

We are from your husband.

- What?!

The first thing she felt was disbelief. The second is outrage. So anyone can say that he is from her husband, but in fact ... This is the time. And then, who gave him the right to follow her? This is two.

Olga boiled and immediately calmed down. According to what, according to what ... He is her husband. The young man is correct. Maybe worried? If I didn't trust him, I would put covert surveillance. Boys wouldn't come up to meet her.

“This is not from distrust of us! They are busy,” the words of Dr. Bormental came to mind.

It became funny. But it doesn't hurt to check. Olga said:

- Wait a minute.

She took out her smartphone and suddenly realized that she did not know Zimin's number. Here's a Perdimonocle! In today's world, it's like having sex and then asking for a name. Everyone exchanges phone numbers and social media contacts, often before they see each other in person.

She once had a case when she talked with a girl from the call center of their private security company for two years before she met her at some general event.

- Woof-woof!!!

“Go, walk,” she let the Pekingese off the leash and turned to the man. - Can you tell me the boss's phone number?

– Eh… Excuse me? he hesitated.

The second, who had been silent before, came up and dictated a number. She scored. After a few rings, a stranger answered.

“You are not my husband,” she said. Why did they give me this number?

- What kind of husband? the man at the other end of the wire was surprised. - Who is it?

- Goodbye.

She hung up and said:

- I need the number of Miroslav Ivanovich Zimin. And who was this?

Serious guys smiled at once, becoming like people, not cyborgs.

“Head of Security,” the first one answered, and gave her a completely different number.

She wanted to put it in a book. While fiddling, the smartphone rang. The number is unknown.

– Hello?

- Who are you? asked on the other end of the line. How do you know my number?

- Didn't understand. It's you who are calling me now, - Olga was surprised. How do you know my number?

What nonsense? The man turned off himself, and then one of the guys began to chirp.

- Yes of course. Yes ... Yes, we thought ... No way. There is!

Very informative. Olga dialed the correct number. When connected, she said:

– Hello!

- Who is it? Zimin asked displeasedly.

Probably the man did not understand who was calling. She laughed, covering the phone with her hand. "Groundhog Day" some! He didn't remember her number either.

"It's me," she said laughing.

- Who?!

- Your wife! she yelled into the phone and hung up.

Here it is! But I was convinced that the guys are who they say they are. Charlie, by the way, has already returned. He did his business behind the bushes on the lawn. Actually, it’s not supposed to, you had to walk to the area for walking animals, but it happened. So the tour is cancelled?

Or not. He will go for a walk, watch how a dog, imagining himself big and scary, barks at huge shepherd dogs and great danes, and then rushes in a race with lapdogs and pygmy poodles. He will think about his own, about the feminine. Breathe in the air.

And they went. The guide was a Pekingese, who pulled on the leash and barked loudly. Olga followed him, clicking her heels on the pavement, and the guards moved in the wake.

They came and looked around. Olga again let the dog off the leash and gave him the opportunity to run. The phone of one of the guards rang again. He practically stretched out "into the front" and began to make excuses. Then Olga's smartphone rang.

“I added you,” Zimin said without preludes and laughed. - I did not recognize by the voice, you will live long.

- I would like to.

What are you, not in the mood? PEMES?

Wow, what clever words he knows. Although who does not know them now, in the era of round-the-clock advertising of pads with wings and condoms.

- No, PePesha! she said again and hung up.

Maybe, really? The calendar is at home. Okay, let's assume she has PMS. Alas, it will no longer be possible to blame the underdot ... x. But all the same, for some reason, I want to hurt. Or not. She wants attention. That's what.

She dialed herself and said:

- Sorry.

“Let’s go,” he answered magnanimously, without making a fuss.

Zimin was rather amused by these calls. At least some entertainment while he waits in the basement of his club for one m ... ka to be dragged. Boring.

– Remember, I promised to take you to fights? - he asked. - In the evening, a charity match at Olympus. Let's go to?

- Let's go to. How to dress?

“Better.” She could tell from his voice that he was smiling. - Like yesterday.

- Understood.

So, the dress is on the floor, a full parade. Okay, let's turn around. I'm sorry Charlie. It's time for the beauty salon.

***

She had one good, as she thought, habit. Every year she bought one luxurious, timeless dress. It seemed to Olga that one thing was better than a dozen cheap and badly tailored ones that had to be brought to perfection in the atelier.

However, in the atelier I still had to do point finishing and fitting to the figure.

She also skillfully and tastefully selected accessories. Others in the pantry were piled with all sorts of rubbish, “necessary” things, and they stood on the shelves of blanks for the winter. And she had a dressing room there with rows of clothes and shelves for shoes and bags.

If you think about it, the heart of the house is the kitchen. The head is a bookcase. And the wardrobe is the soul. There is her feminine kingdom. In this place, she feels that she has fallen into a dream.

Olga decided that today she would wear a floor-length dress made of coarse, undyed golden silk. The back is open almost to the waist, but it is often crossed by silk lacing of the same color, practically hiding the skin under the weave. Front and even more modest. Boat cutout. Only the arms are open. On the feet are shoes on a breathtaking height of “stiletto heels” of golden color. Golden clutch.

She had just come from the saloon where she was escorted by the guards. They took her away, which Olga was incredibly happy about. The master conjured for a long time over the hair, making it submissive. Manicures and pedicures were done in gold tones.

Returning home, the woman put her dress on and found that everything was successfully forming into a whole image. Now collect part of the hair with a hairpin at the crown and dissolve over the shoulders at the back. Or maybe lift everything up? Or twist into a knot? After fiddling for about ten minutes, she made a "Greek" roller on a golden braided ribbon. Studded with gold coins. Bought on occasion in Greece. Very much on topic.

The thinnest golden stockings to match the skin. A couple of drops of "dry" oil on the arms and shoulders. Bustier? It's too much. Skin color panties only.

She put on a dress. Mm ... Also in skin tone. How did she guess! Curving like a snake, she tightened the lacing and tied it in a tricky knot to keep the slippery silk from coming undone. She put her feet in the boats. She applied gold eyeshadow and mascara to her eyelids. Lipstick - beige, sparkling gold. Highlighter on the cheekbones, quite a bit. Nothing else.

Another look in the mirror.

Golden idol. Living statue - from head to toe.

Good!

– Hello?

“Hi,” Jimin replied.

He didn't pick up the phone right away. For some reason, he breathes heavily, with tension, as if he is doing something indecent there or working on simulators.

- I'm ready.

- Really? he breathed.

And yet, what does he do there? He picked up the phone, so there is nothing to hide.

- Yes.

Zimin once again kicked the freak lying on the concrete floor, who was stealing the company's money, and walked away to have a normal conversation. He was surprised that Olga was already ready to go to a charity evening. According to the experience of the women, they always gathered for a long time, delved and could not choose a dress and jewelry. They needed an audience and their approval. For some unknown reason, their man invariably acted as a spectator.

And then quickly. "I'm ready". Straight gold, not a woman.

- I'll be there in half an hour. Or even earlier.